Psalm 23
by FilledeMarius
Summary: An attempt to fill the void of Alexander Anderson's missing backstory.


The screams had long ceased coming from the laboratory in the bowels of the Vatican; the only thing that the scientists heard now from the audio feed was prayer in a weary, hoarse voice. Despite the fact that the subject had been awake for three days, the pain unable to let him sleep, he had not wavered.

"Yea, though Ah walk through the valley o' teh shadow of death…"

Within his prison, a thirty year old Alexander Anderson gripped the handholds on either side of him, knuckles going almost white as his head hung down. Each muscle had been stretched to its limit, all weaknesses eliminated in an exquisite torture that had not been used since the time of the Inquisition. He could feel the nanomachines bolstering every tendon and vein as his body throbbed in time with the cadence of his prayers.

"Ah will fear nae evil, fer Thou art wit' me…"

That was what he told them, wasn't it? He vaguely remembered his flock kneeling on squares of carpet with their little heads bowed in prayer obediently mouthing the words along with him. It was hard to recall information in this state; he could barely remember the past few days. Squinting through fogged lenses, Anderson thought this was a good thing. He had spent most of his life thinking and it had gotten him nowhere in the end.

"Thy rod and Thy staff, they comfort me…"

His mother, a heavily Catholic woman, had drilled into him that there was no better profession in this world than joining the priesthood; he was a natural choice for Father Renaldo, who had been younger then, when he visited that small village in Scotland. He enjoyed his years in the seminary, becoming completely immersed in it after his mother's death, but eagerly took his first position at a parish in a small town near Aberdeen. He spent six years nurturing the orphans and watching them grow and for a time, he was happy.

"Thou preparest ah table before me in teh presence o' mine enemies…"

There were seven of them: three boys, three girls, and a woman with black hair and red eyes whose mouth distorted cruelly when she laughed at him. They came in the night, two of the boys dragging Anderson out of his bed and clamping cold, clammy hands over his mouth. His fighting caused them to call the third for aid, but they managed to pin him down, swearing and squabbling amongst themselves who would suggest to the woman that they tie him up. The girls had left to reassure the frightened orphans; their soothing and the sounds of the children calming sent chills down his spine. Aloof from it all, the woman smiled, sauntering through the door and reclining suggestively on his cot, the fledglings holding him there quieting as she gestured languorously at them.

"Thou anointest mah head with oil…"

Her feigned kindness angered him and he did his best to keep his mouth shut as she taunted him. She claimed that her fledglings needed a father and asked if he would become her consort; he answered no politely and asked her to stop playing games. He told her calmly that he would consent to anything as long as they didn't harm the children, please, oh please, not the children, for the love of the Father and the Son and the Holy Ghost, not the—

Pain jolted him back to reality, a particularly persistent aching coming from the scar on the right side of his face, which only forced him to remember more. The woman had given him that after growing bored of toying with him and angry because he refused to accede to her demands, scratching out a deep gash with sharp nails. His lip bled as he bit down to suppress the scream and unsatisfied with his pain, she grabbed a bottle of Holy Chrism that he had used to confirm a few of the older orphans earlier that day and splashed some of the oil on it. Flicking on a lighter that one of the girls gave her as she threw the bottle to the floor to shatter, she touched it to the flame and it ignited almost instantly.

Anderson roared, thrashing wildly from side to side as it grew and knocked off the boys. In his agony, his burning cheek touched the material of the pant leg of the youngest, who had stepped in the oil. He went up quickly, screaming as he threw himself to the floor to try to roll out the flames, but it caught the spilled Holy Chrism and the room was in flames five minutes after he became ashes.

"Mah cup runneth over…"

He could not remember how he got out; his only memory was of hearing his children screaming before he fell unconscious and the next thing he knew, Father Renaldo had his arm over his shoulders and was hauling him towards an ambulance. Not one of them survived the vampires or the blaze. Over the next two months, he raged and grieved in the privacy of the Vatican, not even managing to find the smallest consolation in the fact that the tormentors of his flock had perished with them.

"Surely goodness ahnd mercy shall follow me all teh days o' mah life…"

The epiphany came swiftly and he wondered why he had not seen it before while plaguing himself with if only questions night after sleepless night. He had known about Section Thirteen while he was in the seminary; friends of his had gone that route and though their letters were infrequent and secretive, they assured him that they were well and treated better than any clergy except for the highest upon high. He could even retain a parish in Rome again, if he so chose. It made sense, for did not the Lord test Job greatly and reward him for his tenacity of faith after he righteously suffered?

Two weeks later, he spoke with Father Renaldo, who had his doubts about the matter and begged Anderson to reconsider before he committed. Nonetheless, it had gone forth and here he was. For the memory of what he lost, he gave his blood, sweat, and tears to prevent a repeat of how it transpired.

"Ahnd Ah will dwell in the house o' teh Lord forever…"

It would be years yet before Anderson encountered the Hellsing Organization and the young zealot he was now could have never fathomed that he would share an understanding with the Protestant whore who ran the organization, much less her heathen pet vampire. When they did meet, they would recognize in the others that they had learned and knew a blasphemous truth that persisted over any words of Scripture.

To serve God, you had to bargain with the Devil.

"Amen."


End file.
